Florence
by Red Snowsled
Summary: After Roy tries to attack Jim, Karen becomes even more insecure about Jim and Pam calls her mom in desperation. Confused about Jim's behavior toward her and her own wishes, she decides to go on a trip.
1. Chapter 1

1

"Hi, mom," Pam said weakly into the receiver.

"Pam, sweetie," her mother's electronic voice cooed through the earpiece. "How are you holding up?"

Pam felt herself sink slightly deeper into the couch. Her living room was dark and only the light from the streetlamps leaked through her blinds and cast sallow stripes onto the carpet. The silence was crushing, as though she were sinking farther and farther to the bottom of the ocean, the pressure imploding her.

"Mom," she felt herself say before she tightened the muscles in her face to keep from sobbing uncontrollably. A few tears squeaked by and gasped quietly. "So much stuff happened today, so many things-"

"Oh, Pam, should I come over there?"

"No, Mom, it's okay. I'm okay." The dead silence after her speech began pressing hard against her chest.

"All right, go slow. What happened first?"

"Remember when I told you that Roy and I broke up?"

"Uh huh. Oh, sweetie, I am still so sorry."

"I—I didn't tell you what he was like, though. He got so angry when I told him about Jim and me that he threw his beer bottle at a mirror."

"Oh no, he didn't hurt _you_, did he?"

"No, Mom, I'm fine, but today at work he came in-" Pam gasped slightly, remembering how about every unpleasant emotion that existed had converged at the moment—the spike of jealousy as Jim and Karen spoke together, the anger of seeing Roy, the shock as he said Jim's name, and the general embarrassment of feeling naked in front of the whole office as her personal affairs were thrust into the faces of her coworkers after the pepper spray cleared. "He came in and tried to attack Jim-"

"Oh my Lord-"

"-and Dwight, he works in sales, sprayed him in the face with pepper spray, and it was all over before I knew it-"

"And Jim and everyone was fine?"

"Yeah, no one was hurt, except Roy."

"Is Roy all right?"

"Yeah, he was okay." She paused. "He was fired."

"What a day."

"We had coffee after work and talked it over. Mom, I—I'm never going to see him again," Pam said in a higher voice, sniffing. She swallowed a sob.

"I didn't think he was able to do something like this," Pam's mom replied. "I don't like it, but it's for the best, I think."

"I know—I know," Pam sighed, but the cold still surrounded her. As aggressive as he was, Pam knew his big, warm arms, what his smile was like when it was only for her, the rare, special moments that got her through the evenings with him. And he was gone.

"Are you sure you're okay alone?"

The question struck Pam harder than intended. Pam's lip quivered and her eyebrow furrowed.

"Sweetie?"

The streetlamps flickered. Pam drew her flimsy jacket closer to her, pulling the zipper closer to her chest. The absolute stillness killed any comfort she might have had at that moment.

"Pam, I'm coming over there."

"Mom, it's okay."

"I'm coming, don't try to stop me. See you in a half hour." The line went dead. At first, Pam was slightly annoyed at her mother's presumption, but as she stood up, the sounds of the couch's springs echoed loudly off the wall and the thought of spending tonight alone crept inside her like a cockroach and died a smelly, disgusting death in her chest.

Pam turn on a lamp and grabbed a magazine, walking over to the chair. She felt the modest fear of a young woman alone at night, like the girls in horror movies. But not so much a monster—more her own future that she feared above all else.

_Maybe I should get a dog—or a cat_, she thought offhandedly. The thought electrified her suddenly. What if she ended up like Angela, with her cats? She quickly snapped on the television to chase off the thoughts.

A "Magnum, P.I." rerun, a documentary about polar bears, "CSI," and the local news were on. She watched the local news.

"_-local cabbage farmer gives us his professional opinion: 'This new tax on fertilizer won't cripple the industry—God knows we'll always have cabbage—but out-of-state prices will be an arm and a leg, mark my words. At least the good people of Scranton won't have to worry about the rising cost of cabbage-"_

The TV flicked off, leaving a fuzzy light behind it. Pam dug her fingernails into her scalp, feeling more trapped in that room, on that couch, than she had ever felt in the conference room during one of Michael's lectures or on a Friday, sitting at her desk waiting for 5 o'clock.

She wept openly now. She gasped heavily for air as she was bombarded by the notions she had been holding off valiantly all day.

_He doesn't love me. He doesn't love me anymore_.

She saw it all. She saw him push Karen out of the way as Roy lunged. He didn't even look at her.

_How will it all be okay?_

And everyone watching—sometimes she thought everyone in the office knew that she loved him. And if they didn't know before, they certainly did today.

_He doesn't love me_.

It was as if it had all been a horrible joke he had played on her. Was he capable of something that cruel? She hadn't thought Roy would ever hurt anyone—but, no, Jim wouldn't do that. But he clearly he hadn't loved her as much as she'd loved him. He'd quickly forgotten her after he was out of visiting range.

She thought about herself, Karen and Jim, and Roy. She'd give anything to feel Roy's arms around her right now. If her mom wasn't coming over, she'd be a little too tempted to call him.

_That's not really who you want to call_.

As if she needed to fantasize about Jim holding her, comforting her. She felt so wrapped up in him that she couldn't breathe, only cry uncontrollably.

Everything flooded her. She quieted, drowning and helpless. She heard the door to the garage open.

"Sweetie?" her mother's voice cut through the menacing silence. "Oh, Pam!" She dropped her coat and car keys on the floor and came to hold her.

"Mom," Pam cried, throwing her arms around her, burying her head into her hair like a little child.

"The mold is going to take three weeks to remove," Jill Beasley said, scrunching up her nose as she poured orange juice. The seven-thirty sun shone through the window, lifting Pam's spirits that were fragilely repaired by sleep. "Apparently it's what's causing your dad's asthma, and according to the website, it's life-threatening."

"Gosh," said Pam, surprised. She chewed meditatively on her Pop tart. "Do you want to stay here?"

"I don't think you have the room for all of us," Mrs. Beasley said thoughtfully, looking around. Pam shrugged in agreement. "Although I would love to. I'd hate to stay in a hotel for three weeks."

Pam would have suggested giving up her apartment to stay at Roy's, but that wasn't really an option now.

"That sucks, Mom."

"Language, sweetie." Jill Beasley said.

"Sucks, sucks, sucks," Pam said with a small smile. "It's not a bad word anymore, Mom. I have to go to work now, okay?"

"I'll probably leave around two, so I won't see you when you get back from the office. Unless you need me, then I'll stay."

"That's okay, Mom, I limit my breakdowns to four a year." Pam pinned her hair back as always and pulled on her long, warm white coat. "I'll see you sometime soon."

"Bye, Pam," her mom called as Pam walked down the hall.

"Have a good day, Mom."

* * *

Pam sat behind her the reception desk.

"Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam."

"Blah, blah, blah, Dwight Schrute, please blah blah blah?"

"Could you hold, please? I'll put you through." She set the phone down and watched Dwight receive his call. She couldn't help but let her eyes slide to the right just a little and stare at Jim's back. He never even turned around anymore to give her one of his glances that they'd share about twenty times a day. They'd say a million things with their eyes—_I'm bored, I'm hungry, Want to mess with Dwight?, Michael is such an ass, my brain hurts, I hate my job, I hate today, I know!, I have a secret that I'll tell you, I have something I really need to tell you, I have a secret I'm not going to tell you, I love you_. The last one sometimes got lost in translation.

She would look at the bow of his shoulders as he hunched over his desk.

She'd never really found him extremely attractive—actually, when she was in high school, she'd never looked at guys like him. There had only been the teenage gods, the athletes. And Roy had been her Hercules, well-muscled and well-mannered in front of her parents, the football star, who had picked her, Pam, his mortal Megara. She had always thought of herself and Roy in the Disney sense of the myth, with the happy ending, with herself becoming a goddess, somehow ascending to the Olympus of life with him. However, it was turning out much more like the original Greek myth.

But now, she was letting herself—at least, while Karen was in the bathroom and the cameras were turned away—let her eyes glide over his back. Granted, his starched shirt didn't allow much, but she imagined his back to be delicately and finely lithe, not bulging. She imagined running her fingers through his thick, long hair.

Karen came back into office and Pam quickly shifted her eyes to the nearest thing—Dwight. She stared at him, watching as he put down the phone and began writing something down. Karen sat down with her own business. Dwight looked up, as if he had sensed her looking at him. Pam gave him a quick smile before looking away. She looked at her computer screen. She pulled up a picture of the _David _to occupy herself.

Was there any human form more beautiful? Michelangelo had given him the faraway look on his face that was echoed by male models ("damn, I am pretty" &c., &c.), such an honestly conceited look that Pam envied their simple happiness. Wouldn't it be better just to be arrogant and happy than nice and miserable? She let her eyes roam over his calves, his thighs, his chest. It was all perfect. She looked at his face. It seemed like Jim's. She closed her eyes and tried to erase the resemblance, but it wouldn't go.

"Hey, Pam," said Jim, standing at her desk, bending slightly.

"Oh! Hi," she said, surprised and blushing.

"I was wondering if you had extra rubber bands?"

"Yeah, of course." She quickly leaned to one of the bottom drawers to get the bag.

"What are you looking at?" he bent over the desk, looking at her computer screen. She'd forgotten to minimize. His eyes lit up with mischief. She playfully dreaded but wanted him to make whatever smartass thing was going to say. _Gotta curb that porn addiction, Beasley._ Or something. But he just gave her a weak half-smile and a generic nod. "Art. Nice."

"It's Michelangelo's _David_," said Pam, nodding enthusiastically.

"Yeah," he said, no longer leaning in towards her. He had his weight on his heels, nervous, as though he wanted nothing in the world but to get away from her. She pushed the bag of rubber bands toward him. "Thanks." He walked back to his desk. She watched him go, watched his body move. Why was she so concerned with his body today?

Karen had been watching her watch him. Pam smiled guiltily and ashamedly at Karen as she redirected her gaze back to her screen. Karen did not smile back.

At lunch, Pam didn't leave her desk as she usually did. She ate alone, grateful that Michael left her alone after only two ribbings about how antisocial she was becoming. First, she calls off her wedding, and now she won't talk to anyone? Actually, I just want to be alone right now, Michael.

Karen came right up to Jim at 12:15.

"Hey, I want to ask you something."

"Okay."

"You know that trip I was talking about?" Karen asked, touching his arm gently.

"Yeah, you've been talking about it for weeks."

"Well, not _weeks_," she said, smiling at him. "But today I renewed one of Andy's biggest accounts. We're going to have enough to go on that trip really soon."

"Where do you want to go? Sandals, Jamaica?" Jim asked. Pam had to bite her spoon to keep her from snorting in her pudding.

"No, stupid," she laughed. "I was thinking—I don't know, Montreal?"

"Come on, just because you can speak Canadian doesn't mean you need to show off," he said with a goofy smile.

"I—I wasn't trying to show off," she said uncomfortably.

"No, I meant—Montreal sounds great," he replied, looking to Karen's left somewhere. About four seconds later she realized he was joking. "Let's go to Montreal."

"Well, what about Brazil?" Karen asked, crossing her arms. "I don't speak Brazilian."

"Wherever you like," he said, kissing her cheek. "Meanwhile, we have to figure out what country's food we're going to have for dinner tonight."

"God bless…China," Karen said, unwrapping the egg roll she had brought for lunch as they began to walk over to the break room.

Pam finished off her yogurt. Her mother had packed her lunch today with a turkey sandwich. _God Bless Turkey_, she thought. _Jim might have found that funny_. _Who knows_.

"Pam, I have something I need to say to you," Dwight said bluntly, coming up to the reception desk. Jim and Karen paused to watch. Dwight's forehead was furrowed, his face in overdrive trying to achieve a look of utmost seriousness. "I know you have female urges, and I understand. But we must remember we are humans and we are above the animals. I am in a relationship right now with another woman and your sexual overtures to me are unwanted."

Karen looked bewildered while Jim looked as though he were to explode laughing.

"Dwight, I never-"

"No, I know you never did or said anything, but in the wild, the pheromones and the stares that you are thrusting at me would be enough to initialize a mating procedure. As for me, I am like the artic wolf. I choose but one bitch, and there is no room for you."

Jim bit his lip, his eyes riveted on Pam.

"Wow," Pam said softly. "Gosh, Dwight. Whoever she is—she must be an unbelievable woman to be able to handle you."

"She is," Dwight said solemnly, closing his eyes for a moment. "I know that after you broke up with your fiancé, your first tendency is to throw yourself into the arms of the next man you see."

Pam couldn't help but dart here eyes to Jim quickly, then back to Dwight.

"But you are not a deer. You can't just mate with the Beta after your Alpha is dead." Dwight held her hand as though he were lecturing an alcoholic. "But believe me when I say there is a forty-point buck out there for you."

"Thanks, Dwight," said Pam, nodding gratefully. "But don't worry about me. I'm sure I'll get over you—someday."

"That's the spirit," said Dwight, walking away to inspect his throwing stars.

Jim and Karen looked at Dwight, then back at Pam. Pam's smile was threatening to burst out of her tight lips. Jim took a step toward her, but Karen stopped him.

"Oh my gosh—what about Switzerland?"

Pam felt her heart fall. He wasn't going to say anything. Not even smile at her.

"Yeah," he said, looking away from Pam. "Then if we play Call of Duty, I can be neutral."

"It would be a good way to cover your sorry sniper-toting ass."

"There should be a diplomat character in that game. I could have ended World War Two before we even got to the next level…"

They walked away.

Pam prayed silently that her Mom was still at her apartment.

"Hello?"

"Mom, it's me," Pam said, biting her lip.

"How's your day going, sweetie?"

"Horrible. Jim's not the same…Nothing's the same. I'm the one that needs to change. I'm just—stuck."

"Well, how're you going to get unstuck?"

"I can't," she said. "I can't quit. Maybe I could transfer, but I don't know…"

"Hm. Well, maybe this will get you through the day. I have a surprise for you when you get home, okay?"

"Okay, Mom," Pam said. She looked over at Jim through the window. There eyes connected briefly. "I love you."

"Bye sweetie." Jim still looked at her, his sandwich halfway in his mouth. "Love you too."

They disconnected at the same time.


	2. Chapter 2

2

The clock turned to 5 o'clock and Pam was ready to go home and crawl in bed and wake up again after 100 years had passed. Jim grabbed his jacket, bag and coat and helped Karen into hers.

"So did we finally decide on Japan?" he asked.

"For a trip or for dinner?" Karen replied.

"I can't remember."

"Me neither," she said with a warm smile.

"Good night, Karen," said Pam before they left the office without a word to her. "And Jim."

"'Night, Pam," said Karen with a genuine smile and a nod. Jim waved pleasantly.

Pam was the last one in the office, except for Dwight, and she didn't want another lecture about mating animals. The last coat on the hook was hers. She put it on slowly and headed to the door.

She listened to one of those country songs about lost love and turned the radio off, listening to the pavement beneath the wheels.

_This is my life. Just one long car ride, not going anywhere_.

Scranton's best viewpoint, the declining hill, oversaw the small, gray river with the Wal-Mart, Home Depot, the mini-malls, the landfill for the tri-county area, new condos, and countless office buildings just like hers. She wanted to run the car right over the hill and into the river, crash and burn and give the local news something real to talk about.

_Great. Now I'm suicidal_.

The thought struck her as an almost humorless joke, but she felt the gravity of it. _I don't want to be alive right now_. She did what most people did who felt like that. She shut down slightly, insensitive to joy and pain alike.

She opened her apartment door and her mom was gone already. The sun was still out and filled her apartment with light and her mother's presence still lingered slightly in the apartment, filling Pam with a little comfort. A white envelope was sitting on her kitchen table with some cookies.

Pam bite into one—delicious, of course, oatmeal raisin—and opened the surprise. What would it be? A Denny's gift certificate? A photo of them together? Some cash?

She dropped her cookie. It fell to the floor in pieces and crumbs.

* * *

"I know you hate talking about this," said Karen. "But I want to talk about Pam and us."

Jim felt as though his digestive track had become mutinous and was endeavoring toward putting him in as much pain as possible.

"No, I get it," he said with a sympathetic tone, looking away and wincing. "Let's talk."

They sat in a small diner that was made to look Italian, but more like an American restaurant with Italian-flavored décor from Target. They sat a checkered-cloth table with a little fat, mustached chef as their parmesan cheese shaker. They were still wearing their work clothes.

"She was looking again at you today," said Karen, looking at her food. She picked at her salad. She was trying to get thinner.

"I think she was plotting revenge for the rubber bands I took," he said playfully. But she looked at him, not angry or indignant, but just _God, do you have to be like that right now?_ "I mean, I don't know. We used to make eye contact a lot when I was at my old desk. It's probably just an old habit."

Karen looked at her salad, shifting around the greens, wondering if she should say what she was going to say.

"Eye contact? A lot? Why?"

Jim scratched his head and took a bite of pasta. They had decided on Italian.

"Did you hear me? Jim?"

"What? Sorry, I was chewing," he mumbled, hoping she would forget her question. But Karen was wicked sharp, which he admired about her.

"Just, why did you make eye contact? A lot?"

"I don't know. Just bored."

"Oh." They ate in silence for awhile. "I really like her. Honestly, she's funny, sweet. She could be my best friend."

"I know," he said.

Again, she didn't know how to interpret what he was saying. 'I know, she could be your best friend,' or 'I know she's funny and sweet, she _is_ my best friend.'

"Want to rent a movie tonight?"

"Sure. Great idea," said Jim, slurping up a noodle.

"I've always wanted to see Edward Scissorhands. It's been on my to-do list forever."

"Mine too," said Jim with a small smile to his pasta.

* * *

Pam drew it out of the envelope.

BEASLEY/ PAMELA

29 APR 2007

Departing NEW YORK CITY

Arriving ROME/VATICAN CITY

Seat 17 A

"Mom!" she exclaimed out loud, horrified and ecstatic at the same time. A letter accompanied the ticket.

'Pam Dearest,

If anyone needs a vacation, I think it's you. This is for two weeks from now. That should be plenty of time to ask off from work. If not, you can give your crazy boss your two week's notice, but I'm sure he can't do without you.

I also have another ticket for you—for a bus that will take you to Florence, to a hotel there. The airline has your return ticket for three weeks later.

I hope you'll bring us back lots of paintings!

Love, Mom'

Pam stared. She would never imagine her mother so—infuriatingly wonderful—that she would buy her a plane ticket. It was true, she needed a vacation, not from work but from her personal life. She could paint in the beautiful gardens and she could visit art museums. She could find a little of herself that had dreamed about something like this for so long, with such a deep-seated yearning.

She knew she was going, but she felt an adolescent pang of indignity and desired independence. It wore off fairly quickly, and it was replaced by a sense of gratitude and love for her mother who was so well in-tuned to her wishes. And so blatantly opportunistic. The apartment was now open for three weeks and her parents could have a place to stay while their mold job was done.

Pam, in her horse-printed PJ pants, lied in bed and thought about art, imagining herself whirling around an ancient fountain, exploring old churches. She saw herself painting everything from flowers, to old nuns, to bicycles and shop fronts.

* * *

"Michael, can I ask you something?" asked Pam, the next day. She looked slightly nervous.

"Pam pa tam pam, of course you can!" he said, lilting his voice a little higher on the last syllable. He tapped his hands on his desk for emphasis. "Your problem is my problem."

"Actually, I was just wondering if I could take three weeks off after the next two weeks."

"Hmm," said Michael. "You know…that might be a _little _too long. I could see if you were having a honeymoon, you might want to have a little extra time, to you know. But you're not married. I don't want to give you all that time if you're just alone."

"Please? I think I really need to take this vacation."

"Here's the thing, Pam," said Michael, leaning forward. "You're smokin' hot _and _you have brains. You're irreplaceable, even by our equally hot temp. Maybe for a week or so, but not for three. Ryan has more important things to worry about than answering the phones."

"Like your dry cleaning?"

"Well, that's not…_all_ he does," said Michael.

"If I could find someone to replace me for the three weeks, could you reconsider?"

"Only a carbon copy of you could do what you do, Pam."

"I might be able to get you someone pretty close to that."

* * *

"Hey Karen, could you come here?" asked Kelly. She had about twenty different hues of lip color taking up space on the table in the break room.

"Just a minute, I'm a little busy," said Karen.

"Hey, Pam?" called Kelly, clear across the office. "Can you come over here?"

"Sure," said Pam quietly, getting up and going over. She sat in the chair that Kelly gave her and Kelly started putting paint on her lips.

"What are you doing?" asked Pam.

"Giving you a makeover, silly," said Kelly. Her insistence was as unwavering as her practiced hand. "Well, just a lipover. All I have is lipstick, balm and gloss." She painted delicately with an astonishing accuracy that could only have come from hours and hours of practice.

"Okay, I'm here," Karen piped, standing in the doorway.

"Have a seat, I'm almost done with Pam," said Kelly. "Oh my God, look at her! Just look at her."

"You only did her lips," said Karen dryly.

"But what a difference! Her whole plain Jane look is out the window—I have to go with this. It's too much. Wait here." Kelly left them alone together to go off in the back past Toby's cubicle. Pam eyed the reception desk uneasily and listened carefully for the phone's ring. Pam and Karen sat uncomfortably together.

"They really do look great," said Karen. "Your lips, I mean."

"Thanks," said Pam after a hesitation, nodding but not smiling.

"Okay," said Kelly with an unshakably giddy grin. In her arms were little pots and plastic containers of powders and glitters of every shade imaginable. "Some day I'm going to organize these."

"I thought you said you only had lip stuff," said Pam as Kelly started attacking her with cream foundation.

"Well, you know, these are my emergency stash. Always be prepared, you know. Anyway, I think this will look really nice. I mean, I'm getting rid of the circles under your eyes, your colorless skin-"

"I see I'm not required," said Karen, getting up.

"Thanks anyway," said Kelly, not looking up. Karen glanced at them before moving back to her desk. "Gosh—who knew all this potential was under here? Pam, you have to be a bridesmaid at my wedding."

"Oh, you're getting married?" asked Pam.

"Well, duh! OH, you mean, like, right away? I meant down the line in time. I mean, I've got my groom all picked out." She gave a big, glossy smile to Ryan down the hall and waved. Ryan looked back in horror, as if a gorilla had just declared his love for him. He waved back hesitantly. "Anyway, of course I'm wearing white but my bridesmaids are going to wear baby pink. Won't that be so gorgeous? With little pink roses. Oh my God, look at you."

Kelly's hand finished with the eye shadow and she moved to pick up a hand mirror.

"Oh wait!" Kelly exclaimed before setting the mirror out of Pam's reach. She reached around and unclipped Pam's hair barrette, fluffing the half-up hair down. "Oh my God, you look totally different!"

She finally gave Pam the mirror. Pam looked at herself.

No one could call her not beautiful—her lips were immaculate, her eyes radiated color and light. The hair in her face gave her a sexy mystique that was previously never connected with Pam.

She looked at herself. _That's not me_. She thought the makeup made her look like someone whose whole personal value rested on the outside of her body. _Enjoy looking at my face, that's all that's worth getting to know._ No one would know how hard she laughed at Fargo, how much Mixed Berries was better than Key Lime Pie, or that when she looked at a pot of flowers, she was exacting different hues of the petals, wondering which pastels and mixes would best recreate the flowers' beauty.

Meanwhile, Kelly had ushered in Phyllis, Angela, Meredith and Karen again to look at her handiwork.

"Doesn't she look awesome!" Kelly exclaimed, her hands clasped to her chest, her face beaming. "I think she should wear it like that _all day_."

"Pam, you look really nice," Phyllis said with an approving smile.

"Thanks, Phyllis," said Pam, trying to peer through her hair to make eye contact.

"Hot," said Meredith briefly.

"It's rather unprofessional, don't you think?" asked Angela with an extenuated eyebrow arch.

"What do you mean? I do my makeup like that all the time," said Kelly, ready to have a showdown with Angela. But Angela was satisfied with just a disapproving look in both Kelly's and Pam's directions.

"So, are you going to walk around here like that all day?" asked Karen with a nervous half-smile.

"No," said Pam quickly, mirroring Karen's smile. "I'm going to wash it off, now."

"What?!" exclaimed Kelly. "No way, Pam—you look like a goddess!"

"Um," said Pam. "I just don't want to get, you know, unwanted attention."

"Ohhhhhhhhh," said Kelly, looking over at Michael's office. "Gotcha. Well, anytime, you know?"

"Thanks," said Pam. Karen watched as Pam went into the women's restroom.

Pam saw herself in the wide mirror. She relaxed her shoulders, leant her head back and admired herself, the woman with no man. Then she remembered the phones, washed her face, clipped her hair and got back to work.


	3. Chapter 3

Wow, thanks for all the great reviews...I'll keep going with this if you guys like it, I guess...

3

"Hi, beautiful," her mother said when she met her daughter for coffee. They embraced warmly. Coincidentally, it was the same café/restaurant that she had been at with Roy when they separated for good.

"Hi, Mom," Pam replied. "I don't know what to say. Just—wow, thank you so much. I'm so excited."

"I think this will be great for you. You'll come back with a whole new perspective."

"Yeah," said Pam. "Listen, can I ask a favor of you?"

"I'm listening."

"My boss, Michael doesn't want to spare me for three weeks. I need someone to take my place at the reception desk. I was wondering…if you're not doing anything at home while the house is being de-molded, could you, maybe-"

"Be your substitute phone-answerer?"

"Yes?" asked Pam meekly.

"Hm," said Jill, looking adventurous. "Well, I suppose being barred from my own house rules out laundry, house-keeping, and other great activities. I would be bored the rest of the time. I think I could do it, if you train me."

"Oh, Mom!" said Pam, hugging her across the table. "You are the best…of all the moms."

"Thanks, sweetie," said Mrs. Beasley, blushing pleasantly. The waitress delivered their drinks—Pam's Coke and Mrs. Beasley's herbal tea. Mrs. Beasley brought the teacup to her lips to smell it gracefully. "So what's new with Jim?"

"Oh," said Pam, biting her lip and concentrating. "He's great. I mean he's fine. He and Karen are really great together. They're really happy."

A look passed between them. _But what about you?_ _I'm miserable_.

"Huh. Good for them."

"Yes. Good for them." Pam shrugged and gulped her Coke. "So how's my little niece in Pittsburgh?"

"Oh, she's the cutest little thing…"

* * *

"Pammmmmmmmm Beasley, come on down!" Michael said really, really loudly as Pam told him she wanted to see him.

"Thanks, Michael," Pam said, going into his office, looking down and trying not to make eye contact with anyone who was probably looking. The door closed and she turned toward him as he reclined flippantly in his big chair. "I, ah, talked to someone who is really good who can take over for me for three weeks."

"You called the magic Pam Farm? 'Hello, I'd like a dozen Pams, must be quick with the messages!'" He laughed at his own joke.

"Um," Pam said. "I did go to the source…my mother is willing to do it."

Michael leaned forward, as though to tell her something confidential.

"Pam, that's real sweet of your mother to offer," he said quietly. "But you know, I think having a geriatric around here is going to hurt productivity. You've seen our resident senior Phyllis. I'm sure your mom makes great lemonade and bunt cakes but we can't have her forgetting everyone's messages. And what if she falls down and breaks her hip? Then where would we be, Pam?"

"Uh, Michael, you and Phyllis are the same age," said Pam quickly. "And my mom's only six years older than you."

"Well," Michael said shortly. He took another two minutes to muse over a suitable comeback. "Of course, you know, I am certainly not prejudiced."

Pam stared at him.

"Uh huh."

"And I can't just take your word for it. If Angela told me all day long that you could do her job, I wouldn't believe it unless I saw you with these eyes balancing the books. I want the chance to be fair and _judiced_, not prejudiced."

"So you want to see my mom answer the phone?" asked Pam.

"Yes!" said Michael quickly. "That's exactly what I want."

"I can bring her in next week for a day, and I can train her. Is that okay?" asked Pam.

"Right. It'll be okay as soon as I can see that she can say 'Dunder-Mifflin, this is…uh…Pam's mom'."

"Okay then," she mumbled, then paused, looking tentatively up at him. "I'll just…go do my thing then."

Michael man-giggled.

"That's what she said."

* * *

Pam sat at her desk, determined to draw a vase with her ballpoint pen. But somehow the elegant curve became a long nose, with cute lumpy nostrils. Next were puppy eyes and longish, slightly curled hair. There was a half-smirk, showing perfect teeth.

She crumbled it, then unfolded it, and shredded it.

"Come on. Let's go out for lunch," said Karen, striding confidently over to Jim's desk and sitting on his work.

"It would be _such _a waste for a good brown bag," said Jim, holding up his food. Karen crossed her arms and twitched her lips slightly. "Want to share? I've got two apples."

"Sure," she said, happily accepting, sneaking a look up towards the watching Pam. Pam quickly looked away. "Let's go outside and eat on top of my car. The weather's great today."

"I kind of just wanted to stay inside and look over these expense reports, if that's okay."

"Oh come on," said Karen with a big grin on her face. "You want to stay inside today? No clouds out at all! That doesn't happen too often in Scranton, I don't imagine."

"You're right," he said, putting down his pen and putting on a brave face. She grabbed the coat off of his chair and helped him put it on.

"Awesome." She bit into the apple. "This is really ripe. And juicy."

"Yeah, apples are like that," he laughed and looked away. She laughed too.

"Are you making fun of me? 'Cause I'll kick your ass."

"You'd look just like Angelina Jolie, but with apple dribbling down your chin."

"Angelina Jolie in 'Tombraider' or 'Mr. And Mrs. Smith?'"

"I haven't seen either of them, actually."

"God, you _are_ agoraphobic."

They walked out the door and Pam watched them. Then she decided to take her life into her own hands.

"Hey, Meredith?" asked Pam as she walked into the break room. "Want to go to Poor Richard's for lunch?" Only Stanley and Oscar were sitting with Meredith, gaping in surprise.

"You know, Poor Richard's isn't really a restaurant. With normal food," said Oscar.

"Oh, I know," said Pam confidently. "Meredith?"

"Uh, yeah, coming," she said, quickly throwing what was left of her lunch into the trash can and grabbing her purse.

Meredith and Pam went downstairs and into the parking lot. Karen was beckoning Jim to sit on the roof of the car with her, but Jim only went so far as the hood, and looked uncomfortable there in his work clothes. Pam didn't look at them after she stepped out the door and into her car with Meredith. She wondered if Jim was watching her.

"This is really cool," said Meredith, arranging things in her purse as they drove down the interstate. "I'd really like a sandwich. And some Santori."

"I think I want a martini," said Pam. They pulled into the tavern's parking lot and went in.

They sat at the bar. Then Pam realized she was at a bar on her lunch break. And she'd invited her alcoholic coworker.

_I really need a vacation_.

"Can I get you ladies something?" asked the bartender as they sat in the dim room. A few men were leaning over drinks at small tables, lost in their own worlds. Pam sympathized.

"Santori. And a little Hawaiian punch."

"And you?"

"I think…I think I want…I'm not sure."

"Pam," said Meredith. Her face was wore that expression of lifelessness that wasn't unfamiliar to Dunder-Mifflin employees. "You gotta say what you want. No hesitations. Just say it."

"Well, what if I can't have what I want?"

"Then you claw until you get it," replied Meredith. "Hey, I said I wanted Hawaiian punch too, man."

"I guess I'll have a martini."

Pam decided to watch Meredith try to get drunk instead of do so herself. Someone needed to drive them back to the office and she didn't need a DUI on top of everything.

Meredith's speech was slurring after Pam last count of her drinks.

"Pam—what do yeh think of Jim an' Karen?"

"What do you mean?"

"Yer in love with Jim, right?"

"Meredith, Jim is my friend," said Pam, embarrassed by the woman's loud words echoing through the quiet bar. This was definitely a mistake.

"That's got to suck—watching them together."

"Come on, let's go." Pam pushed Meredith's drink back toward the bar tender. Meredith scrambled to pay for her drinks as Pam walked toward the exit. "We'll be late back."

Once they were back, no one even noticed that Meredith was wasted.


	4. Chapter 4

4

"So this is the phone," said Pam, pointing to it. "The little lights on the side show which phone in the office is being called. The little numbers next to the lights are the extension numbers. Sorry, am I going too fast?"

"No, I think I got it," replied Jill Beasley. "I _did_ do a little secretary work in college."

"And you married your boss," giggled Pam with a smile, finishing the famous story. The two women looked at each other, then at Michael, who was trying to do a magic card trick and a Carlos Mencia comedy routine at the same time. Loudly. Instantly, the famous story was no longer cute and amusing.

"Um...when someone makes a call, you just press the little button next to the light and the number to patch the call through. I have a little card, right here-" Pam pulled out a faded, laminated card –"with everyone's names and extensions."

"Do I get to meet everyone now?" asked Mrs. Beesley.

"Yes," said Pam with a grin. She looked at Jim's desk before passing it by, going past the break room and to the back, starting with Ryan first. "This is Ryan Howard. He's working here as a temp and goes to business school. This is my mom, Jill Beesley."

"Very nice to meet you, Mr. Howard," said Mrs. Beesley with mom-ly modesty.

The sound of his named with a Mister at the beginning inspired the look of a man who had seen an angel.

"And you too, Ms. Beesley," he said, somewhat awestruck.

"This is Kelly Kapoor," said Pam, trying to think of thoughtful details. "Kelly's…got a lot of sisters and likes makeup."

"It's a pleasure, Miss Kapoor."

"Ahhahaha," Kelly laughed sweetly and loudly, to Ryan's embarrassment. "It's just Kelly, Mrs. Beesley."

"And this is Toby Flenderson. He works in Human Resources."

"Oh. Hello, Mr. Flenderson…"

"This is Oscar, Angela and Kevin…"

"Wow, you're really hot like Pam," said Kevin.

"Oh. Um. Thank you," said Mrs. Beesley, shooting a humored look at Pam. Pam bit her lip.

"Stanley, Meredith, and Creed…"

"You must be Patty's sister," said Creed, happily shaking her hand.

"I'm actually Patty's mother."

"_Really_. Can I interest you in coffee?"

"Patty's very married mother."

"Next lifetime, honey."

Pam blushed, embarrassed, while her Mom was slightly more graceful. Pam braced herself now as she went over to Dwight's desk.

"This is Dwight Shrute," said Pam a secretive smile to her mother. "Dwight, this is my mom."

"The hero!" her mother exclaimed enthusiastically. Dwight looked sternly at Pam before leaning closely to Mrs. Beesley.

"Mrs. Beesley, I believe your daughter has unrequited feelings for me and has therefore exaggerated my character. I am just a normal citizen that does what a good citizen does."

"Very noble, sir." Jill was smiling at Pam standing behind Dwight. Dwight, more than satisfied, sat down again with some measure of imagined dignity.

"And Andy. Andy went to Cornell," said Pam. Andy winked at Pam's mom.

"Yes. Yes, I did," he said, leaning back in his chair seductively.

"And this is Jim."

"Hi, Mrs.-" He started, leaning forward to shake her hand.

"And that's Phyllis and Karen, over there," interrupted Pam. "The three of them are in sales."

"It's nice to meet you," said Phyllis. Karen nodded with a semi-welcoming, awkward smile.

"Welcome to Dunder-Mifflin," Karen added.

"I think that's every-" said Pam as she led her mother back to the front reception desk.

"Well, what do we have here?" Michael boomed, coming out of his office, sauntering right up to them. "Pam 1 and Pam 2, with…their…shoes all blue."

Neither Pam's or Jill's shoes were blue, but Jill's had blue stripes on them.

"This is my boss, Michael Scott."

"I've heard so many things about you, Mr. Scott," said Mrs. Beesley. "So many, many things."

"Mr. Scott, Mr. Scott," he said deepening his voice and adopting a British accent. "Nobody here is a 'Mister' or a 'Mrs.' I'm just Michael, the Mikester. Whatever you like." Ryan the Temp was crestfallen, stripped of his 'Mr. Howard' title and any possible dignity associated with it.

"I'm Jill Beesley," said Mrs. Beesley.

An eerie calm settled over the office, completely unrelated to their conversation. The complete lack of caring and enthusiasm shared by all breathing humans in the office soon began to engulf the three conversing. Everyone who had just met Mrs. Beesley went back to whatever they had been doing, ensconced in their own little world. Whenever Pam felt a moment like this, she looked to Jim for inspiration; when Michael felt it, he crawled back into his office; for Jill, the choking dullness had the oppression factor of Stalin's Russia, as she was new.

Michael was back in his office, the blinds closed. Jill and Pam were both behind the counter. Pam looked up and saw Jim looking at her; she smiled at him briefly—not even watchful Karen had caught her this time.

"So…of course, the phone is not ringing all day long," said Jill in a low voice. "What work can we do?"

"Um. Let's see. There's a little paper pushing," said Pam, equally quietly. She looked at her inbox and there were three letters. She licked and stuck three stamps on them and put them in her outbox. "That's about it."

"So this is it?" asked Jill.

"Well, there's also, you know, Sudoku puzzles. I know a good website. Plus I haven't even told Jim about that one yet," said Pam with a grin. "This is the best site, you just pick which kitten is cuter."

She pulled up the site, and they went through four rounds of kitten war, arguing over the last and resolving with a draw when the phone rang.

"Go ahead," said Pam. She wrote on a scratch pad, _Dunder Mifflin This is Jill_.

"Dunder-Mifflin, this is Jill," said Pam's mom, flashing a thumbs-up to Pam. "Stanley…Stanley…" Pam pulled out the laminated card and pointed. "Let me put you through." Jill triumphantly pressed the extension button. A moment later she saw Stanley pick up his phone. She hung up.

"Well, that's not too difficult," she said in her same low voice. "Let's have a challenge."

"I think this is pretty much it," said Pam, looking around at the receptionist's desk.

"Really?" said her mom suprisedly, then sympathetically. "This is it?"

"Yeah," said Pam, a little defensively. "It's important though, you know. Everyone needs to have their phone calls."

The phone rang again.

"Dunder-Mifflin, this is Jill," said Mrs. Beasley.

"Mrs. Beasley, Jim Halpert. I'm about ten feet in front of you."

Mrs. Beesley let out a genuine laugh that disturbed the silence.

"And how are you, Jim?" she asked, grinning and resuming a library voice.

"Frankly, Mrs. Beasley," said Jim, deepening his voice. "I'm a little upset by your lax tone. This is _Mr. Halpert_ to you, and we run a pretty tight ship around here, as Miss Beasley has clearly failed to inform you."

"Clearly. I'll have to reprimand her," giggled Mrs. Beasley.

"See that you do. Dunder-Mifflin has a zero-tolerance policy in regards to silliness and nonsense. Those caught performing illicit acts of tomfoolery first have their candy dish privileges and then their bathroom privileges removed."

"Thank you, sir. I'll have to remember that."

"Good work, Beasley. Carry on." Jim hung up.

The two women behind the counter had a mini-explosion of giggles several moments later, not unnoticed by another woman across the room.

* * *

Rarely did Jim ever go over to Karen's desk, because he usually had no inclination to talk to her more than he already did when she came over to his desk. However, she had been strangely silent all day. In the back of his mind, he noticed she was wearing a little more lipstick than normal, but the thought didn't register any meaning to him. 

"How's it hanging, Fillipelli?" he asked, stretching his legs and leaning against her desk, his shoulders hunched slightly in guilt for he knew not what, nursing cup of coffee.

"Okay, I guess," she said. "Mrs. Beesley seems nice."

"Yeah, she'll be a good receptionist."

"Why is Pam training her to be a receptionist?"

"I dunno."

The answer was good enough for Karen, and it wasn't as if she wanted Jim to press Pam for info. Not that talking to Pam was bad or anything—although the pit of Karen's stomach said otherwise.

"I have so much e-mail today," Karen sighed, deleting spam left and right, as though she were shooting down Call of Duty enemies. "Interested in registering to win a free Foreman grill when you buy a big screen TV?"

"Not as much as getting a…an all-expense paid trip to see The Price is Right," read Jim from the subject lines of her e-mail.

"Here's one from my mom," laughed Karen. "I get these all the time. One of my second cousins is getting married and we've been invited to the wedding."

"Are you going to go?" asked Jim, sipping his coffee.

"Are you kidding? I have about fourteen thousand first cousins, and I have so many second cousins, Angela and Dwight are probably both my second cousins." The thought of Angela and Dwight being cousins was hilariously funny to Jim, but he stifled his laughter and the source of it. "And anyway, I'm sure I've never met them, except maybe once when I was eight. I'm not sure they're even on this continent. Oh wait, yup—see the address? The wedding's in Sicily."

"Wow," said Jim, widening his eyes. "Ever been to Sicily?"

"Once a long time ago," said Karen. She looked into his eyes gently, then down, then up toward the ceiling, trying to remember. "It's—unbelievably beautiful. The architecture, the hills, and everything's near the beach. It's the best place for a family bonding thing. My mother spent her grade school years there before coming to Connecticut when she was twelve. I have pictures of her swimming." She paused to dig them out of her desk.

Jim listened to her. It was times like these when Karen's defenses were low—when she wasn't being insecure, when she wasn't pushing him more than was really fun—and was being totally honest with him that he let himself believe he could be completely happy with her. He accepted for a good five minutes that she was more than almost perfect. Here he was like a mathematician, taking as a given that Pi was no more or less than 3.14, or that .9999 actually equaled one. He was content in that moment to round up for Karen.

But, as usual, when her attention was diverted, he let his eyes gaze up at Pam. She was looking happier than she had in a long time, smiling and joking with her mother behind reception. He let her smile get inside of him, thrusting out all darkness and ill thoughts. The strange warmth of his innocent observation turned his weary, stale heart to one that was refreshed and passionate again, throbbing with longing for its source. As he turned back to Karen quickly, he felt the guilt creep in as Karen, even at her best, slid back to an infinite .999 while Pam was still a solid one.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry guys for the long wait. The website wasn't accepting the document when I tried uploading it several times, but finally--success!!! Thanks for all your reviews, they are really encouraging.

* * *

5

Pam was alone again several days later, after her mother went home again. She wouldn't be back for a week, when Pam finally would go on vacation. It was soon, now—five more days.

She sat at her desk. She had a drawer that she rarely opened. It was the farthest from her reach and had an annoying habit of getting jammed often. She kept it locked.

For years she only opened it when she was glummest—when Jim was on vacation. Roy had made no secret about his irritation with her talking about work after work, and without Jim she had needed to open up to someone. But not Roy.

Jim was at the office today. But he was also gone.

She opened the drawer, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and pulled out "The Giving Tree" by Shel Silverstein. She slipped a manila folder around its green cover, pretending she was reading a file of some sort.

_Once there was a tree and she loved a little boy. And every day the boy would come._

Pam imagined Jim as a little boy—what a funny thought! She still had his yearbook picture, tucked safely behind the phonebook. She took it out, gave it a thorough gaze, then put it away again. He probably would have played basketball, Mario games, and practical jokes on his parents every April Fool's Day. It was fun to imagine a brown-haired little imp running around causing innocent havoc.

_And gather her leaves. And make them crowns and play king of the forest._

Did he have an active imagination as a child? He must have. How would he be so clever when speaking to Dwight otherwise?

"Uh, Pam?" asked Karen. She was holding a business letter in her hand with a Post-it note.

"Huh?" asked Pam suddenly, startled. She quickly dropped the manila folder onto the counter, giving the book a tell-tale thud.

"Could you, uh, find an updated address for this client?" asked Karen. She looked at the manila folder and smiled.

"Yeah, sure," said Pam, looking at the Post-it.

"Light reading?" asked Karen secretively with a smile. Pam smiled guiltily back. "My favorite book is _Jane Eyre_. What's yours?"

"Oh, um," said Pam, biting her lip. "Hm. I like, uh, you know. John Grisham books. Lots of John Grisham."

"Yeah, he's good," said Karen, faintly detecting the lie in Pam's voice. Normally she wouldn't care, or would easily forgive the lack of honesty over something so trivial, but she was so damn sick of lies from people she genuinely liked. Jim told her 'everything's fine, I'm over Pam, I'm so glad you're here in Scranton' in the same voice. Maybe it would be okay even if things weren't fine, if she could just bring herself to believe him. But even she couldn't do that. She shifted her weight on her heels back and forth uncomfortably as Pam finished locating the address, handing her the Post-it back. "Thanks, Pam."

"No problem." Pam watched her go sadly, ashamed of herself for lying and ashamed at her own embarrassment. So what if her favorite book was for children? And so what if Karen knew that? Well, no one really knew that. Except, her mother was the one who first read it to her when she was three and read it to her every night for four years. She had told Roy once, when they were seniors in high school. But that had been lost in the sands of time for both of them. Would she have told Jim? _Who knows_.

Karen went to the bathroom about half an hour later, and Pam had set down the book in the manila folder on the counter.

Upon the women's restroom door closing, Jim stood up and leant over the reception desk.

"Hey," he said, smiling.

"Hi," she said, smiling back.

"Whatcha got there, Beesley?" he asked, picking up the suspiciously heavy manila folder. She snatched it back immediately, fired up with potential embarassment. He looked at her blankly. Was he hurt? Surprised? Amused?

She looked up at him guiltily but couldn't stop the words coming out of her mouth.

"Could you just—you know—mind your own business?" she asked quietly and snippily, looking down at the counter and tucking her hair behind her hair at the same time, trying to look busy.

"Yeah. Sorry I bothered you," he said shortly. What pained her was that there was little sarcasm in his voice—just shame of some offense that he hadn't realized he committed. He turned back immediately to sit down.

"Sorry," she said a little louder, loud enough for Karen to hear. "I—I didn't mean it like that. Jim-"

"No, Pam, it's fine," he said calmly, not looking at her. "My fault—sorry." Now Ryan, Phyllis and Karen were listening in. Pam buttoned her lips, although she wanted to say more.

_But time went by. And the boy grew older. And the tree was often alone._

It was five o'clock as Pam read the words and she felt really stupid but her eyes were already welling up with tears—a few for herself, but mostly for the tree. Almost everyone was gone now anyway.

"Hey, Pam," said Michael, coming out of his office. A magic wand was sticking out of his briefcase. "Oh man, what's got you down?"

"Just," said Pam, wanting to blow him off as usual, but looking into his human eyes she gave half-smile and let a small tear out of her left eye. She took a breath and decided she couldn't do worse. "My favorite book is 'The Giving Tree.'" She pulled it out of the manila folder she'd been hiding it in. "It's really good."

Michael took it in his hands delicately and began to read it. He gave it the same serious consideration that he gave her art. He had no reason to do so—he politely could walk by and on to his next activity in life (as anyone else would), but he chose to stand there, setting down his briefcase and reading the "The Giving Tree."

He took an embarrassingly long time, but neither of them were in any hurry.

"Wow. That's really—really beautiful," he said, pinching his lips together and raising his eyebrows higher than comes naturally. He was clearly trying not to cry.

"Yeah, I know," said Pam, wiping her eyes.

"You know why?" he asked rhetorically. "I _am_ that little boy. We…_are_…that little boy. Why? Because, Pam—we sell _paper_." He paused to gasp a little to hold in his tears, horrified by the notion. "We take and we take. But what about the trees, Pam? What about them? It's not like they have any stock in this company. We don't pay them dividends. How do we repay the _trees_, Pam?" At this point his voice had become high with emotion, and he crossed his arms and frowned to preserve his countenance. "When they are so supportive of us?"

"Yeah," said Pam, nodding. She didn't like how Michael was honestly saying something she secretly found profound—and saying it so lawyer- or politician-like.

"We should think about this. _Meditate_ on it." He paused for emphasis, placing the book delicately back onto the reception desk. Pam blinked at him. He gave the cover a little spank before picking up his briefcase again to go to the elevator. "Good night, Pam."

"Oh, Michael, would you mind keeping it a secret—that that's my favorite book?"

"Of course, of course. I understand," he said, clearly not understanding but eager to please.

"Good night, Michael."

* * *

As Jan, Jim, and now Pam could attest to, confiding in Michael Scott was like drinking a euphoric wine that temporarily relieved one's suffering and sickness of the human condition. However, after the wine was drunk, the hangover the next day made a person want never to go near him or hear his name again. 

"Everyone, everyone, listen up," said Michael Scott, looking down, his feet square with shoulders, his hands on his hips. It was the next morning at nine o'clock. The coffee was brewing and the florescent lights were humming industriously. If nothing else than for an entertaining break to the monotony, everyone gave him their attention. "I've had nothing short of a revelation yesterday. Today, I want all of us to experience the _joy of life_," he said reverently and slowly. "Today, we are going to remember our childhoods and remember to whom we owe our gratitude for everything."

"Are we going to church?" asked Angela.

"No," said Michael Scott. "Much more meaningful than religion. Today, we are going to take several hours to connect…_with nature_. We're going out into the woods to bond with our inner child."

He drew in his breath slowly, letting his wisdom pervade their senses like a miasma. They all stared at him in disbelief. Pam mentally kicked herself and wanted to crawl under her desk and not come out for a week or more.

"Question: will we be required to use survival skills in the woods for these hours, and if so, am I allowed to bring a hatchet, matches, a pocket knife and iodine tablets?" asked Dwight, his arm straight in the air.

"No, no, Dwight!" said Michael angrily. "If you even _think_ about bringing something sharp into the woods, you're fired! This is all about the trees. I think it's time that we, as friends, as coworkers, as lovers, and as paper-sellers, all said thank you to the trees."

"Trees have no ears," said Phyllis. "How are the trees supposed to know that we are thanking them?"

"God, I'm—_we're_ wasting time with these questions. Come on, everyone, let's go. Let's go, get up, come on."

The general vicinity lurched to their feet slowly, dragging themselves to the coat rack and to the elevator. Except Stanley. He stayed at his desk, shuffling his papers with just a muttered 'oh _hell_, no.'

"Where are we even going?" asked Oscar as they walked out into the parking lot. "There aren't any forests around here."

Michael led them to the edge of the Dunder Mifflin parking lot. A chain link fence cut through a small patch of puny trees between the properties of Dunder Mifflin and the Scranton Homeowner's Association.

"Everyone, pick a tree," said Michael. Dwight walked swiftly past Phyllis, grasping the drunk of the largest tree in the 10-foot radius, glaring defiantly at anyone who would challenge him for it. Karen awkwardly took a tree, then Kevin and Angela. Meredith and Creed grabbed a tree at the same time and stared each other down before Meredith let go and sauntered toward a small sapling the height of her knee.

"There's not enough trees for everybody," said Pam, crossing her arms. Karen and Angela were both uncomfortably aware that their heels were sinking into the dirt.

"Well—split up, team. You guys go over there," he said, pointing to a few pristinely landscaped trees near the building. Andy, Jim, Ryan, Toby, Kelly, Pam and Oscar walked toward the main building.

"You can share a tree with me, Ryan," Kelly said brightly. She leaned against the largest one on the property—a mid-size tree that reach the second-story window. "This one's big enough for both of us."

"That's what she said," said Andy, accompanying his comment with a lewd glance at Kelly.

Then Ryan did what no one expected—he grabbed Kelly's arm and swiftly switched their positions so that Ryan was between Kelly and Andy.

"I'm not so crazy about the sharing thing," said Ryan, looking at Andy instead of Kelly.

Kelly looked over at Pam and gave a secretive, joyful giggle that didn't go unnoticed by those present. Toby and Oscar chose the next trees over to watch, while Andy accepted defeat for the moment when the trees on that patch of grass were taken. He followed Jim and Pam around the building to try and find other trees. They found one around on the other side. A shady square of dirt by the dumpsters hosted a decent maple and two shrubs. There were no other trees on the property.

"Good enough for me," said Jim. Andy stood by the maple that was in between the two shrubs. Pam, last of them all, stood by the other shrub. A few moments went by.

"I think they forgot about us," said Pam blankly.

"Well, I didn't forget about _you,_" said Andy. "Want to share a tree with me?"

"Um," said Pam, crossing her arms and looking at the ground. "I think I'm okay with my bush."

"Pam, darling," said Andy. His shoulder was up against the tree's trunk, hands in his pockets, his ankles crossed nonchalantly. Pam felt a little bile in the back of her throat. "A _tree_ is definitely not the same as a _bush_. Right, Big Tuna? Say it."

"Say what?" asked Jim. He was hunched a little, his hands in his pockets.

"That's what she said."

"She said what?"

"No, I mean, say it. _That's what she said_."

"I'm sorry," said Jim. Pam started to smile behind Andy's back. "Who are you referring to? Pam? What did Pam say?"

"No," said Andy. Jim could see his choler rising like a thermometer. "I mean, you know, _that's what she said_."

"Seriously, Andy, I don't know who you're talking about. Maybe if you repeated the conversation, it would help job my memory a little."

Pam's giggling didn't help calm him down.

"You're killin' me here, Big Tuna. _That's what she said_. Just say it."

"Um…you're killing me here, Big Tuna."

"Ergh! _God!_" said Andy, clenching his fists. He pounded the tree's trunk with his fist just as Michael came around the corner.

"Andy, what are you _doing_?" asked Michael, horrified. "This is a tree-loving exercise. We don't have room for haters, Andy. We love trees, don't we Pam? Pam?" The three men looked at Pam, two with curiosity and the other with expectation.

"Uh, yeah," said Pam, looking at the ground. If it was revealed now that because she was reading a children's book, everyone had to go outside and stand by trees, she wasn't sure she'd come back the next day.

"In fact—you are such a hater, Andy, that you've completely forgotten what it means to be a special little boy to a special tree. I want you to _climb that tree_ until you find what you've been missing all these years among the branches. Like the little boy, right, Pam?" asked Michael.

Pam was speechless.

"Climb the tree?" asked Andy, frowning. He scaled it in his mind. Michael nodded solemnly.

"What little boy?" asked Jim, looking between Michael and Pam. Pam bit her lip and looked at her boss hopefully. _It's gone too far_. _Please don't tell on me now_. The last thing she wanted was a rendition of 'Pa-am started the fire…it was always burning…since the world's been turning…etc.' except worse, and something to do with trees. It could be much, much worse. Michael gained a noble sort of look on his face. Andy began to shimmy up the trunk, getting a hole or two in his pants. He was about three feet off the ground.

"I guess you'll hear it sooner, or later, Jim. Pam is pregnant," said Michael with a completely serious face. "With my son."

"_What?_" exclaimed Pam. "Michael, that is totally untrue."

"Well, Pam, what do you want from me?" he asked, irked. "You don't bite the hand that… protects secrets."

There was an awkward silence.

"Uh…that's what she said," said Jim, trying for Pam's sake alleviate the focus on whatever she was trying to hide.

"Ergh!" Andy exclaimed in horror and betrayal, sliding down the trunk, running massive holes in his pants and landing unceremoniously on his butt.

Michael was laughing and clapping his hands for Jim's nonsensical use of his favorite joke. Then he reminded Andy that he still needed to climb the tree and walked away.


End file.
